


Finding North

by ClarkeStetler, Goosenik



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Detectives, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Still Have Powers, Charles Xavier Needs a Hug, Erik Lehnsherr Loves Charles Xavier, Friends With Benefits, Gay Male Character, Light BDSM, M/M, Protective Erik, Telepathy, X-Men Cameos, you mad bro?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-13
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-21 09:20:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30019575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClarkeStetler/pseuds/ClarkeStetler, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Goosenik/pseuds/Goosenik
Summary: Charles and Erik are (loosely) friends with benefits. They don't share personal details, last names, or anything concrete about their lives. This is ruined rather spectacularly when Charles gets recruited by the Mutant Apprehension Division of the FBI. Surprised is a bit of an understatement for their reaction to finding themselves partnered up and sent out on cases with the team.Bit of a detective fic? Really just an excuse for us to play around with MAD.
Relationships: Erik Lehnsherr & Charles Xavier, Erik Lehnsherr/Charles Xavier
Comments: 10
Kudos: 49





	Finding North

**Author's Note:**

> Our detective fic has arrived! This will update every week until it is finished!

Charles hummed, tracing his lips across his lover’s collarbone. “I’m glad you were back in town,” he mused as he pulled back, replacing his lips with his fingertips, tracing and highlighting and worshipping the bone structure as it curved along his body. Erik was a work of art that _deserved_ worshipping.

Erik smiled, closing his eyes and relaxing further beneath Charles’ fingers. “I’m glad I was in town as well,” he murmured, running his fingers over the telepath’s spine. “I was thinking about coming over all week.”

Charles grinned, leaning down and pressing his lips to Erik’s chest, just above his heart. He paused, awareness of the intimacy of that action flickering through him, and pulled back, moving up to nip at Erik’s lower lip. “Where were you this time?” He asked, smiling down at him. “Tibet? Vegas? Paris?”

He knew that Erik made up the answer each time. Erik knew that _Charles_ knew. But it was an enjoyable game to play, finding out which location Erik would make up.

Erik’s travel schedule allowed for the distance and casual intimacy that they both craved and required… but it also meant that Charles had to wait an uncomfortably long time between visits, a completely unpredictable schedule that kept him on his toes and made their meet-ups that much more explosive when they _did_ reunite.

“I was in Kuwait, and you bet your very fine ass that I will not be returning. It was perfectly pleasant, but they don’t have _alcohol,_ Charles.” He grinned up at him, comfortable and easy. Erik enjoyed these moments as well, Charles knew. They fit together so well in so many ways, and the months they’d spent in stolen evenings like this had given them both an odd kind of constant that was reassuring.

“No _alcohol,”_ Charles echoed in mock horror, barely able to restrain his laughter. That was the story he was going with? That an entire country didn’t have alcohol? “You poor bastard. How ever did you survive?”

Erik rolled him over. “By bribing my housekeeper,” he said with a grin down at him. “I also heard of such horrors and may or may not have brought some with me. It was a very, _very_ long week.” He pressed his lips to Charles’ neck and Charles made a low sound, leaning into him. “What about yours? You had all the alcohol you could want, how bad could it be?”

“How bad indeed,” Charles murmured, shutting his eyes. His week had actually been rather heinous, what with the impending transfer being finalized and situated. He was absolutely _dreading_ the morning, which made it all the better that he had been able to see Erik tonight and release some of that stress.

Erik hmmed against his skin. “You’re tense, _schatz,”_ he murmured, and Charles swallowed. God, he loved the way Erik’s accent dropped his voice when he spoke in his native tongue. “Tell me, what can we do about that?” He ran his hands along Charles’ sides and up his arms, tracing Charles’ pulse with his lips. “I can’t have you going off in a bad mood.”

“You’re up for another round?” Charles let out a breath, voice slightly unsteady. “Old man that you are?” he teased, going to sit up, and Erik moved with him and rested Charles in his lap, settling back against the headboard.

“Respect your damn elders, boy,” Erik said in a similarly teasing tone, nipping Charles’ shoulder. “The question is more what you’re up for. I could go for a while, if you need.”

Charles leaned down, kissing a line down Erik’s throat. “You just got back today,” he reminded him softly, “And you probably have another trip tomorrow. You should get some rest.” He grazed Erik’s neck with his teeth. 

_That’s not what I asked, schatz._ Erik tilted his head back slightly, a pleased noise breaking from him, and Charles felt a shiver run through him. Erik was one of few who had ever projected at Charles, and it always made him feel like he was right on the edge of some irreparable discovery, some self-awareness that would break this arrangement. “I just got back today, yes. And I haven’t seen you for a week. So tell me what you need, Charles. That’s why we work; we communicate what we need.”

Charles took in a breath, curling his fingers against Erik’s skin. It was a dangerous game, for Erik to be comforting him like this. They were casual. They were aggressively casual, that was the rule. Charles didn’t know Erik’s last name, his details, his personal information. He did his utmost to stay out of his mind and continue that privacy, because Charles knew all too well how fast and deep he fell when he had the opportunity.

With someone like Erik, falling would be the easiest thing in the world. Simpler than breathing, more inevitable than the sun rising.

So they kept everything minimal. Charles didn’t ask for details about his life and he didn’t go looking for them, instead closing off his ability somewhat and allowing Erik’s marvelously constructed shields to block him out. He didn’t call Erik out on his lies or cover stories. He didn’t stay the night in the hotel rooms where they always met, never invited him back to his own place. He didn’t do anything that could develop a deeper relationship.

Erik needed this just as badly, and Charles was determined not to be the one to ruin it for the pair of them. Erik had zero intentions of having a relationship. He’d even said as much to Charles at times- he was too busy, too angry, too self-sabotaging. He didn’t want to be beholden to another person, he had explained, and Charles had laughed and pulled him in for a kiss.

It was mutually beneficial casual intimacy. It worked perfectly. And then Erik would say things like this or project to Charles and everything would teeter on the brink for a second.

_It doesn’t mean anything,_ Charles reminded himself dryly. _He’s not your dom or your boyfriend. He’s half-hard and wants another round._

So he flashed an image to Erik and smiled when his lover’s eyes flickered with interest and excitement, pushing Charles back down to the mattress with a low laugh.

* * *

The Mutant Apprehension Division of the Federal Bureau of Investigation was created in the fifties, nearly the instant that mutants stepped into the public scope. Of course, there were mutants in the Bureau before that- exceptional agents who were a little too good at their job, but no one could quite pinpoint why. MAD worked in secrecy and stealth for nearly ten years, their agents scattered throughout the various departments in the Bureau before they went public, going after mutant threats simply under the FBI’s name rather than their own. The division was met with no small amount of backlash when they finally did reveal themselves.

After all, who would expect a mutant to turn on another mutant?

“We’ve come a long way since then as a society,” Charles remarked to Raven from inside the bathroom, carefully examining himself in the mirror. He could see the reddened marks that circled his upper arms and tried to resist the heat that rushed under his skin at the sight. They hadn’t ever participated in rope play before last night, and it had been a while longer since Charles had participated in it before Erik. He’d somewhat forgotten how much he enjoyed the evidence afterwards. A lasting reminder that he had been wanted, had been touched and directed and relieved of the constant control he managed in his day-to-day life.

Once, Charles had worn a more permanent mark of that same sort of evidence in nearly the same place. He found that he rather liked that that memory had been replaced by this one. It was probably healthy. A sign he was moving on.

Charles pulled his shirt on, hiding the marks, and buttoned it up as he stepped back into his bedroom and continued vocalizing his thoughts. “People may not _like_ mutants, but most of them at least trust MAD to do their job and catch the really bad ones. It’s leagues away from where it used to be.”

“M-A-D, Charles.” Raven was lounging on his bed, scrolling on her phone. “When you’re official, you don’t say the slang term, you say the initials. I don’t call the CIA ‘see-uh.’”

“Everyone calls it ‘mad,’” he grumbled as he tied his tie and adjusted it, but mentally acquiesced that she probably had a point. “The point is, I could have been railroaded into worse jobs. I like that length of hair on you, by the way.” He turned down his collar carefully. “And the waves. It’s very nice.”

His sister grinned at him. “Thank you. I thought it might be good. You think natural or something a little more exciting for when I drop you off at your new job like a proud little mama on the first day of school?” She texted something to someone and put her phone away. “I like the tie. Screams _I’m not a threat, I’m a cinnamon roll.”_

“FBI agents wear suits and ties,” he protested immediately. _At least the ones who tracked me down did,_ he added in the safety of his mind, suppressing a shudder of unease at the memory. Raven still got a little growly about the whole situation if she thought about it too much, the scaly shape of her mind spiking into vicious spines. “And I don’t need dropped off, thank you. I’m perfectly capable of taking myself to my own new job.”

His fingers plucked at his tie and smoothed it, back and forth, as Charles looked around for his watch. He was perfectly capable. “This is going to go well,” he said, reassuring himself out loud. “Maybe I’ll…” _make friends,_ he finished, somewhat lamely and only on the mental plane, because it sounded too much like a lonely child in primary school.

He didn’t blame people for not wanting to get close to him. Really, he didn’t. Telepathy was daunting to the vast majority of non-psionics. But he wished they would give him a chance. Maybe somewhere like MAD, where _everyone_ was a powerful mutant, things would be different. Eventually, Charles reminded himself. It was going to take time to prove himself. How long, he wasn’t sure, he’d never had to have a long-term job before.

“You have a plane to catch anyway,” Charles said briskly as he slid his watch on and fastened it, the face on the inside of his wrist. “Where is it you’re headed to this time, again? Nevada?”

“No.” She sighed. “I _wish_ it was Nevada. No, I’m off to North Dakota.” _Knew it started with N,_ Charles thought vaguely, glancing at himself in the mirror as he smoothed his shirt. Raven turned her head, watching him, then smiled and got up, hugging him tightly. “It’s going to be good,” she told him. “It’s going to be good for you. They’re going to love you, once they realize how fucking awesome you are, and you’re going to be doing good. If they mistreat you, I’ll firebomb that fuck Howlett’s office. Sound good?” She squeezed him a little. “It’s going to be okay.”

“You work for the CIA, darling. The amount that you’re not allowed to firebomb unapproved offices is a substantial one.” He rested his hand atop hers, squeezing it gently. The three-way bidding war over who got to recruit Raven was one of his absolute favorite memories, the agents from each organization getting more and more desperate as the others offered more and more benefits. MAD had lost, but it had been a close second at the time. Of course, that had all been six years ago now.

Raven laughed at him. “I’m not technically supposed to firebomb _anyone’s_ office, on paper. But, you know. Word of mouth, some wires get crossed. _Oh no what a shame, I thought you said 4581 Main Street, it was 4591? Oops.”_ She let him go. “You’re going to do absolutely great. It’s going to be interesting, so you can at least use that big brain of yours.”

“Yeah.” He let out a breath, looking at himself in the mirror, then grabbed one of his old Oxford sweaters and shoved it into the messenger bag he was taking. “Not a word,” he cut out preemptively as she smiled. “It might be cold in there.” 

More specifically, it might be cold on the mental landscape, distrust and suspicion high, and he didn’t want to be so nervous about doing the job right that his anxiety spiked and he started projecting to the entire bloody office. Layers always helped. Comfortable, familiar layers that wrapped around him like a hug and buried him in warmth. 

The distrust and dislike of telepaths didn’t really bother him anymore. It wasn’t exactly _new._ He was more than capable of brushing off retorts and insults, and at times he found it actively fun. No, it was more his own anxiety about doing the job well that would bother him. He didn’t exactly have the option to quit if he hated it, and lives would be on the line.

Raven gave a heavy sigh. “Well, I guess my present is useless then,” she said in a mock-disappointed tone. “I’ll just return it. Return shipping is going to be a _bitch.”_

“Present?” Charles asked immediately, turning, because he was a rich man who needed legitimately nothing but he’d never quite grown out of the boy who was given presents as a sign of affection. “What did you get me?”

She opened her mouth, then grinned and pulled a box out from beneath the bed. “I was going to keep going with the sending it back thing but we both need to go and I want to see your face. Happy first day of government work. It sucks but sometimes you get to do fun things on Uncle Sam’s dime.” She held it out and he took it quickly, carrying it to his dresser so that he could open it on top of the flat surface.

On top was a tie with a lot of hands flashing their middle fingers all over it. Raven laughed hysterically at his face. “I had to,” she said, wiping her eyes. “Keep going.”

Beneath that was an insulated mug (“for tea or coffee on the job. You never get to drink it while it’s hot otherwise,” she informed him), and at the bottom was a brand new Oxford sweater, thick and warm and clearly oversized but with no pulls in the threads, no sagging or signs of wear.

“I figured you needed a nice new professional one,” Raven explained. “Half of yours are terrible because you wear them constantly.”

“Constantly,” he scoffed, fingers tracing slowly over the soft material. Charles turned, offering her a brilliant smile and a hug. “I love it, it’s fantastic. Thank you, Raven.” He squeezed her a little tighter. “I will never wear that tie.”

“I know.” His sister laughed again, bright and amused. “I couldn’t help it. And you’re welcome, my big government agent man.” She squeezed him back. _I love you,_ she projected quietly.

Raven still struggled saying that aloud. The first nine years of her life had been hard ones, and Charles’ parents hadn’t exactly helped in the verbal affirmation department. Charles had only heard her say it aloud once or twice, and so most often, she just projected it like this, in the way she felt safe.

He always said it out loud back to her, to try to issue a sense of normalcy. “I love you, sister-mine.” He kissed her temple and pulled away, swapping out the old sweater in his bag for the new one. He tucked the thermos in there as well, then tugged the strap up onto his shoulder. He glanced around, trying to place if there was anything else he needed to get, and saw the smaller box on the corner of his dresser.

He picked it up and plucked out the ring inside, rubbing his thumb over the _X_ that stood out on the surface. “I’ve never much been one for rings, you know,” he noted, sliding it onto the ring finger of his right hand. He studied it for a moment and wondered if his father would have been proud that he was working for MAD, then shook the thoughts aside. “All right. I think I’m ready.”

“Okay.” Raven examined him, then smiled. “Yeah, you look good. Go do awesome things. It’s going to be fine, call me when you can and let me know how it goes.” She picked up the bag she’d brought over and slung it around her shoulders. “Good luck. I hope your partner’s really hot.”

“My god, Raven.” Charles rolled his eyes and started for the door. “My partner’s level of attractiveness is entirely superfluous- I’m there to work. I’m sure there’s plenty of rules against inter-department fraternization anyway.”

“Which only makes it _hotter.”_ She grinned, following him. “And trust me, if you’re doing a seven-hour reconnaissance mission, an attractive partner can definitely help speed things along. It helps pass the time.”

“I don’t even want to know what you’ve been up to.” Charles groaned, grabbing his keys and locking up the apartment. “You’re just lucky you’re too valuable to fire.”

She winked at him. Her shapeshifting mutation, as perfect and complete as it was, was absolutely unique. Coupled with her hand-to-hand training and intelligence, she was invaluable to any intelligence agency. “Exactly. And so are you. So get yourself a hot partner to alleviate boredom.”

“Sweet lord.” Charles started down the stairs, shaking his head with a smile. The weather was comforting-- a nice fall sort of air, just slightly crisp with the slightest damp edge to it. If he focused slightly, he could feel the minds on the block, all busy with their own troubles and activities. That was comforting, too.

This was going to be okay. It was a new start, even if it wasn’t necessarily the one he had chosen on his own.

* * *

“Charles Xavier,” he said, tugging his bag a little higher on his shoulder as he looked down at the secretary with the most nonthreatening and pleasant smile that he could manage. “I’m reporting in for my first day?”

She smiled back. “Oh, I think-”

“Hi,” a woman’s voice interrupted the secretary, and Charles turned to face the speaker. She was very pretty, soft brown hair tumbling to her shoulders and dark eyes crinkled at the corners. She held a hand out and he shook it reflexively. “My name is Moira McTaggert, I’m your team’s supervisory agent.”

“Oh. Hello.” He felt a flicker of relief at that. Her mind was clean and soft at the edges. There was a solid, steel sort of core to it, one that easily suggested her strength, but it seemed like a kind mind. He wouldn’t be the slightest bothered to work under her. Although… “I’m- I’m terribly sorry,” Charles said as she waved for him to follow and started leading him down a hallway. “But are you human?”

“I am,” she agreed easily, seemingly unbothered by the fact that he had obviously gleaned this from her mind. “Every MAD team has one human in it as a counterweight, a token member who serves to provide an alternate perspective on things.”

“That actually makes a lot of sense,” he mused, curling his hand around the strap of his bag. He didn’t know if he would have put the human in the _supervisory role,_ that seemed a little… telling about the FBI’s structure and attitude toward mutants, but having her there in the first place did make sense.

“So MAD is a lot like the FBI itself, although we are a sub-organization within it,” Moira said as they walked. “We have several branches and teams scattered throughout the US, all of varying levels. The lower-level teams handle lower-level cases, higher-level teams handle high-profile or high-danger cases.”

“What level is our team?” Charles inquired, because asking out loud was important to establish a degree of credibility. He was going to be good this time. He was going to mind his own business, he was _not_ going to look for answers in the heads of his team unless told otherwise that it was welcome. He was only going to utilize his telepathy for his work. It was going to be fine. Once the team realized that they had privacy, they could work efficiently with him, they could trust him to only look for what was necessary and not just take whatever he wanted. They would learn he would respect their privacy.

“Ours is the highest level there is,” Moira said, shrugging. “We’re not based in DC because they felt like that might stir up too much unrest. So we’re in New York instead. Easier to do what we need to do without hindrance or politics.”

“You’re telling me that politics don’t play a role?” Charles asked skeptically, and she laughed.

“They do,” she confirmed. “Of course they do. Pressure on taking certain cases, urgency to close other cases… But the distance helps dull some of that.”

He nodded. “I did think that I was going to be working under Agent Howlett?” he inquired.

“Logan is the head honcho for MAD at the moment, he’s filling in as the interim director. He handles cases closer to home and decides what cases we do or don’t take as well as arranging any police connections and arrangements for us. He also does this for other branches across the country, so you won’t have a ton of interaction with him, to be honest.” There was a flash of amusement in her mind at that, a quiet echo of a growling voice that she regarded with fondness.

They were approaching a frosted glass door with _Mutant Apprehension Division_ emblazoned across it. She swung the door open, leading him into a large and open-concept sort of office, and Charles looked around, taking it in slowly.

Five desks were scattered throughout the space, two pairs of two facing each other and the fifth set up against the far wall, surrounded by half a dozen monitors and computer equipment. _Only five?_ Charles thought with a slight frown, studying the setup. He would have expected the team to have more members, particularly being the highest level MAD had to offer.

An African American man was sitting at one desk, deep in debate with a young blonde man across from him. At the separate desk was a younger redheaded man who was chewing on a pen, examining two of the monitors absently, coding on one and a video of people running on the other. One of the remaining desks was completely empty, and the one it faced was clean, only a stapler and a pen left neatly on the surface. Charles glanced at Moira for confirmation as he set his bag in the chair of the empty desk, and she smiled at him.

“Hey!” she called, and the three men in the room looked around. “This is Charles Xavier, he’s our new guy.”

“He’s Lensherr’s partner?” the redhead burst out, staring at Charles. “Moira, he’s gonna eat him alive!”

Charles frowned and Moira frowned harder. “Stop it, it’s his first day,” she chastised.

“Darwin Munoz,” the African American greeted Charles with a smile, getting up to shake his hand. “This is my partner, Alex Summers. The loudmouth is Sean Cassidy. Lensherr’s not so bad, don’t let him scare you.”

Lensherr. Charles hadn’t really thought about the fact that he would be assigned a partner. He glanced at the desk across from his own, then turned his head at a spike of indignation and irritation wafting from one of the two doors across the room. One door had _Moira McTaggert_ on it, the other had _Logan Howlett_ written across the glass. That second door swung open as he watched, and Charles tried not to swallow as the man stepped out.

He had red-gold hair that couldn’t seem to decide its color, shifting from one to the other under the lights as he strode out of the office. His eyes were dark, but looked somewhere between grey and green and were steely. His cheekbones and jawline were both sharp, his lips slightly fuller than the sharpness of the rest of his face would suggest. He was tall, too, his shoulders broad and waist small.

He was gorgeous, but his physical appearance almost instantly paled in comparison to his mind, blazing like a beacon on the mental plane. It was eye-catching and breath-taking, an impossible, swirling feat of geometry and light. It was like a spiky sphere that continuously bent in on itself, a star rearranging its structure, a sun standing out in vivid contrast to the solar system around it. How Charles hadn’t noticed it the second he’d stepped into the building had to be because the telepath had been shielding so hard, trying not to pry into everyone’s private thoughts in the first thirty minutes of coming in.

Charles took all of this in within the space of a single heartbeat, because it wasn’t at all his first time noticing it. Standing in front of him was Erik. Erik _Lensherr,_ apparently.

Oh. Sweet. God.

“Lensherr,” Moira was saying, and Erik’s eyes were finding Charles’ and the telepath’s curiosity had always been his biggest character flaw- Erik’s thoughts were too loud not to overhear _anyway_ as he stopped in place, meeting Charles’ eyes.

_Charles?_ Concern, confusion, and then he took in Charles’ appearance, his jacket, his bag, and Erik’s eyes widened slightly. _Oh fuck._

Erik focused on Moira, bristling. “I don’t need a partner,” he said flatly.

Charles genuinely considered blinking out. He considered vanishing from view and thought and making his retreat, escaping far the hell away from this situation. He’d once thought that his capacity for feeling awkward or uncomfortable had been worn to nothing by his ability and the hundreds of secondhand awkward moments he had borne witness to. He was so, so wrong. 

And underneath the uncomfortable nature of the situation was a stronger, more bitter undercurrent running through his body. Fear and anger were the primary perpetrators, along with intense frustration tempering the edges. He didn’t let himself examine those emotions, though he found a small measure of comfort that they were mirrored in Erik’s mind as well.

“You may not need one,” Moira agreed airily, “But Dr. Xavier does-”

“Please don’t call me doctor,” Charles muttered uncomfortably, thinking again, longingly, of the choice of just walking out. Moira ignored him to continue on nonchalantly.

“-And he’s part of the team, he needs to be shown the ropes, you aren’t partnered up, and the two of you are going to do great. It fits perfectly.”

“Moira,” Charles said, clearing his throat. “I really don’t know about this.”

“Lensherr is completely reformed,” she dismissed, and Charles frowned at her.

“Pardon me?” _Reformed?_ From what?

Erik glared at her, his jaw clenching and anger burning through the star that was his mind, almost coming off in waves. A frame fell off the wall, a few staplers and smaller things swirling slightly, and Alex complained loudly. Erik shook his head and moved to sit sharply in the desk that was across from the almost-empty desk, opening a folder and burying himself in it.

“Lensherr.” A tall man with dark hair appeared in the doorway, irritated as he rubbed at one arm. His dark eyes focused on Erik, and Charles noted in surprise that he couldn’t really _hear_ him. There weren’t shields in the way, as such. No, he was almost muffled in a way that had nothing to do with his mind, which was bizarre.

_What the hell are you?_ Charles questioned in silent fascination. It wasn’t as frightening as the agents who had come to him to make this job arrangement in the first place, because he could still at least feel the tenor of his thoughts, but it was _something._ Not shields, surely, it was too good and solid for that. Maybe a secondary mutation? Maybe a primary mutation?

“Hello,” Charles offered to him, clearing his throat.

“You are all going to give me an ulcer,” the man who had to be Logan Howlett growled. “Xavier, get your ass in here. Lensherr, fix the shit you broke. Cassidy, get a file together.” He stormed back into his office and Alex gave Charles a little grin.

“I would say Logan’s bark is worse than his bite, but he does bite pretty hard when he’s in the mood,” he said, getting up to fix a frame.

“Ah-right.” Charles faltered for a brief moment, glancing at Erik, but he still seemed far too angry to approach. On their own, in a hotel room, Charles wouldn’t hesitate for an instant. He knew how to unwind Erik, how to calm him, how to distract him.

But they weren’t on their own. This was Erik’s place of business. They might not even know Erik was fucking _gay,_ Charles had no idea what views on that in the FBI or MAD itself were.

Was that why Erik was angry? Was he afraid Charles would out him? Was he worried Charles would mention their relationship and air its details? Did he think that Charles had followed him here somehow, like a crazy or obsessive stalker? Or was it for the same, unexamined reasons that Charles was so angry and frustrated?

More likely, it was all of both.

Charles had spent months staying out of Erik’s head, however, and he had already sworn not to go digging in _any_ of his teammates’ minds, so he turned and followed Logan into his office, letting the door shut behind him as he twisted his ring around his finger.

“Sit,” Logan growled, and Charles sat in the chair the man indicated as Logan settled heavily in the seat behind the desk. “That was your partner,” he said with no preamble. “He’s about as cuddly as I am, but I’m told that you’re a very capable telepath, so I’ll let you deal with it. Don’t take his shit.” He opened a box of what looked like gum and popped three in his mouth, chewing. “Tune them out the best you can and you’ll be fine. Here’s some paperwork.” He tossed Charles a folder. “As you read on the door, I’m Logan Howlett. I’m the interim director and I hope to fuck that this is a temporary thing. Don’t sir me or Mr. Director me, just Logan. We don’t have time for stupid fucking titles. What do you need to know about the department or the team?”

“What is my role, exactly?” Charles hesitated for a beat. “I don’t… I won’t be taking control of other minds. Searching for confessions is one thing, but I don’t like the idea of taking advantage of the bodies and minds of others like that.”

Logan looked at him, startled, and the strange muffled tone of his mind was a flash of surprise and disgust at the idea. “This isn’t a fucking black ops team, Xavier. We investigate crimes. Your role here is to find lies, get information when they won’t say it out loud, to help find the mind in a crowd that’s going to blow the place to hell.” He paused, considering as he chewed his gum. It smelled vaguely like a cigarette with a fake minty aroma. Nicorette? “I guess if there’s an active hostage situation we may have you freeze someone. But it will be a life and death situation if it came to that.”

Charles felt relief wash through him. Searching through thoughts and memories was nothing. It was no different, he assured himself, than learning information by asking questions. Granted, often people didn’t say out loud all the things they did in their head, but it was _possible._ Controlling someone’s body was something altogether different. Compulsion always made him feel dirty. The first time he’d done it-

He stopped those thoughts and returned to the matter at hand.

“Good,” he said, nodding. “Then I can do whatever I need to. When is our first case?” he glanced down at the folder Logan had handed to him when he came in.

“Whenever Cassidy gets his shit together.” Logan shook his head. “We’ve _always_ got cases. It’s just a matter of when we go do them. Go ahead and get settled in if there’s nothing else, they should be ready to go soon.” He waved a hand. “And tell them to leave me alone for a few hours, I’ve got to do _paperwork.”_

“Thank you, sir,” Charles agreed, stepping back outside and taking in the room as Logan growled _don’t ‘sir’ me._ The others were grouped together near Lensherr’s desk, arguing with each other quietly. About him, Charles thought with some amusement. They were trying to decide how much he heard, trying to decide how dangerous a situation this was for their private lives. Darwin and Moira both thought that having a telepath would be incredibly useful in pinning down a guilty suspect. Erik was silent, stewing in his own quiet anger and frustration. Alex and Cassidy were both on the fence, unsure about what this meant for the team’s dynamic and their future, but they weren’t completely against it, which was good.

Charles noted to himself with mild amusement that he _could_ let himself be invisible, masked, allow them to argue in peace for several more minutes while he watched. But he reminded himself yet again that he had already decided not to use his mutation on his team, so they got to deal with their own awkwardness as he approached his desk, pulling out his thermos and setting it on the corner. They fell silent immediately, turning to him somewhat guiltily, and he offered a smile.

“Logan said that Agent Cassidy is responsible for getting something together?”

“He’s our tech guy,” Moira agreed, and Cassidy quickly parted from the group, returning to his own desk.

“Call me Sean, we don’t do the _agent_ thing here really.” he said with a grin. “And everything’s almost ready, I’ll send it in a second.”

“Almost ready.” Alex rolled his eyes. “But if I said that midichlorians or whatever made perfect sense he’d have six articles at the ready in seconds.” He grinned at Darwin as Sean instantly started protesting and Erik pointedly put earbuds in, opening a folder on his desk and making notes in it sharply.

Charles found himself, suddenly and bewilderingly, struck with the urge to _bother_ this studious version of his lover, the way he had sometimes bothered Aaron when he had been trying to examine his newest client’s file. _Absolutely not,_ he reminded himself fiercely, appalled by the odd instinct. Erik was absolutely not in the mood to be played with or pestered, particularly since it seemed he had elected to take the position of ignoring Charles’ presence and pretending they were strangers.

_Focus,_ Charles reprimanded himself, and took a deep breath, settling in his chair. _You can do this. Just talk to Erik when you’re dismissed._

Sure. Talk. _Because_ that _was what we were good at,_ Charles thought wryly as he ran his fingers over his keyboard. _Communication at anything that wasn’t what kind of sex we wanted to have next._ He glanced at Erik’s stiff form, anger and animosity rolling off him in waves, and settled in to embrace the dread that would plague him for the next hour.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm gonna be honest, guys. I hate naming chapters so I'm back to picking lines I like from the chapters. Also, Charles is wrong and Erik is right- It is genuinely illegal to own alcohol in Kuwait. #themoreyouknow The theme of the chapter is desperately needing to drink to cope with this and being unable to, so we went with this title. It cracks us up a lot, just humor us.
> 
> Comments and feedback are life-juice. Ask anyone. Let us know what you think!
> 
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